A coastal road trip in Ecuador

Julian Assange's hoped-for bolthole, Ecuador, has much to justify an escape. Our writer drives part of a new route along the Pacific coast offering archaeology, great beaches, and the island known as the poor man's Galápagos

Ecuador's Pacific coast. Click on the magnifying glass icon to see a map showing some of the places on the trip. Photograph: Alamy

Nick Haslam

Friday 29 June 2012 17.45 EDT
First published on Friday 29 June 2012 17.45 EDT

Large, beautiful and totally unafraid, the male blue-footed booby looks us straight in the eyes, then utters a squawk. Two chicks, practically as big as their father but covered in white fluff, take the cue and begin a falsetto squeal, shuffling on large webbed feet. Their half-metre nest sits across the path: we're on their territory and they don't like it.

The sky is busy with more boobies, wingspans close to a metre. Returning from distant fishing expeditions, they swoop in to riotous receptions at nests scattered as far as the eye can see.

"The males and females take it in turns to sit on the eggs and protect their young …" says Gonzalo, my park guide, pointing to turkey vultures patrolling above. "There are plenty of airborne predators."

It is day two of my drive north along the extraordinary Pacific coast of Ecuador, following part of the recently developed Spondylus route, an 850km trail between Esmeraldas in the north and the Peruvian border. The route is named after an oyster-like bivalve found in the shallow coastal waters here, whose shell was used as currency by Indian groups such as the Valdivia for more than 5,000 years.

The route, launched three years ago, follows almost the entire Ecuadorean coastline: its narrow roads wind through small ports, beach resorts, tropical forest and stretches of deserted golden sand with some of the best surf on the South American Pacific coast. I would be driving a small section, heading north from Ecuador's largest city, Guayaquil.

My guide, Marcello, and I drive out of the city through banana plantations and tropical forest, arriving at midday at the small town of Santa Elena to visit the extraordinary Los Amantes de Sumpa. Excavations here in the 1960s exposed a large burial ground of a hunter-gatherer people dating back more than 8,000 years. A museum was erected in situ, the open graves protected by simple buildings.

We view an extraordinary range of artefacts of the Las Vegas and Valdivian cultures: fine bone needles, pottery and delicate pink necklaces made from spondylus shells. Most remarkable of all are the two skeletons known as the Amantes (lovers): they lie enlaced in a shallow tomb, face to face in a bony embrace that has lasted for more than 5,000 years.

We drive on to Salinas, a seaside resort popular for its white beaches and calm water. It feels Mediterranean, but a quick paddle in the bracing 15C of the Humbolt current reminds me more of summer seas in Cornwall. We lunch in a beachside cafe on ceviche, a delicious mix of marinated prawns and fresh corn, with aji, the chilli sauce served with all Ecuadorean meals.

Montañita is a top surfing venue. Photograph: Nick Haslam

We continue north, passing mounds of gleaming sea salt harvested from vast drying pans, and sleepy villages with long canoes drawn up on the beaches. But at Montañita, some 100km to the north, bronzed beach babes with nose studs stroll on the sands, while in trendy cafes on the front men babble into iPhones in languages from Russian to Hebrew and Arabic.

"This is one of the surfing venues of the Ecuadorian, or even the South American Pacific coast …" drawls a dude called Gabriel, sitting at the door of his surf shop. "It's a real party town." He explains that the perfect rollers here are due to the combination of the Humbolt current meeting the warm El Niño just offshore. "It's one of the best surfing breaks on the coast – a real experience, man!" Sadly, that day, the sea is unusually calm.

The road then climbs through small hills, where the tarmac is dotted with strange black leaves, which suddenly sprout legs and move as we pass. "Tarantulas," says Marcello with a grin, swerving to avoid the nearest large arachnid scuttling for shelter. "They're probably warming up – or going hunting."

In the warm twilight we arrive at the spectacular Mantaraya lodge, an adobe hotel built high on a knoll overlooking the fishing town of Puerto Lopez in the heart of the Machalilla national park. Drinking a beer on the terrace as the brilliant stars come out, I find it strange to think that the many bird species we can hear in the forest are also to be found on the Galápagos, some 700 miles due west.

At 6.30 next morning, the wide beach in Puerto Lopez is already crowded. Long fishing canoes with outboard motors are landing after days at sea, attended by squadrons of pelicans who swoop on discarded fish. Hammerhead sharks, dorados, and large mackerel-shaped wahoos are stacked in piles and gutted by rows of cheerful women. They greet their husbands and boyfriends back from the sea with affectionate hugs, then the men load waiting pick-ups and vans for the long climb inland.

I board a high-speed launch along with two French tourists and, dodging pelicans, we speed out to Isla de la Plata on the distant hazy horizon. Known as the poor man's Galápagos for the richness of its bird life, the island, just 4km by 5km, is the westernmost part of the Machalilla national park.

Visitor numbers are carefully controlled: a maximum of 200 people are a day are allowed to land. Winged creatures are very much at the top of the pecking order. Blue-footed boobies, albatrosses, frigate birds, peregrine falcons and even tiny hummingbirds thrive on this isolated rock rearing out of a sea teeming with marine life.

I pay my $15 park entry fee to the boatman, and after a bumpy hour we are landing on a small beach beneath high black cliffs noisy with birds.

"Many others have come ashore …" our guide, Gonzalo, tells us as we climb a rocky path through woods. "People from the Valdivian culture came here in immense balsa wood rafts thousands of years ago, using the island for trading and religious purposes. Both they and the Incas seem to have regarded the island as a sacred place – perhaps a neutral place where coastal peoples could meet."

From the top the view is extraordinary, the distant ranges of the Andes looming like high clouds on the horizon.

After a couple of hours exploring we head back to the shore. I dive in to the water and spend a happy 10 minutes floating over pastel coloured coral surrounded by innumerable inquisitive fish. The water is cold enough to take my breath away, but suddenly it feels as if the hot tap has been turned on. In a flash I realise that I have just swum from the cold Humboldt into a questing tendril of El Niño, experiencing at first hand a phenomenon that helps drive the entire global climate. That, I think, towelling myself down as we head back to the mainland, is not something you can do every day.